


Given All I Got To My Healer Man

by silverlining99



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine's made mistakes all day long. This might be another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Given All I Got To My Healer Man

**Author's Note:**

> Title from P.J. Harvey's "Heela."

She walks in with about eighteen different things on her mind, but the second she lays eyes on him it all fades away. The lights are dim and he's leaning against his table and it's obvious he's waiting for her, it's obvious from the look on his face that that's not the first annoyance she's caused him today. "Hi," she says cautiously, stopping a few steps inside his quarters. "Am I -- am I late? I thought we said nineteen--"

"You're not late," he interrupts. His stance, his flat tone, his crossed arms, all make her heart thump in her chest. "I noticed you were this morning, though. Two minutes past the start of shift when you signed in for duty."

Christine pulls in a shaky breath. "I was there," she says weakly. "I just got delayed for a minute with Angela, she was telling me--"

"Two minutes. And I can't decide what's worse, being late or socializing instead of getting to work." He narrows his eyes. "Do you have any thoughts on the subject?"

She hesitates. She thinks she knows what's happening here but isn't certain enough, not quite. They haven't talked about this, not about any of it, and even if he's doing what she thinks he is she's not sure it's a good idea, not sure this is stable enough ground to get solid footing. "No." She rubs her damp palms against her skirt. "No thoughts at this time."

"Fine." He pushes away from the table and goes to refill his glass. The seeming dismissal makes her bite her lip and watch silently as he sinks down on his couch and sips his whiskey. Just when she thinks she should say something or -- or leave, his voice cuts through the silence again. "I was willing to let that slide, anyway. I'd rather know what the *hell* you were thinking when I asked you for atropine earlier and you gave me chlorpromazine."

Warmth floods her cheeks, embarrassment crowding against her pride. She'd been horrified enough at her own mistake, but had thought it was done and gone when she realized it herself and snatched the hypospray back before his hand had even closed around it. She moves slowly around the couch and hesitates before sitting a carefully-considered six inches from him, perched on the edge. "It was a rough day," she ventures. "I just, I'd just prepped a dose of CPZ for Doctor M'Benga and it was still on my mind, I guess, I--"

"You screwed up," he says bluntly. He finally looks at her again and the expression on his face, the disappointment shadowing his eyes.... Her stomach twists and she feels, to her shame, a throb between her thighs. "It's the one damn thing I thought I could count on, Chapel, you paying attention and not making idiotic mistakes that I wouldn't put up with from *students*, much less the best nurse I've got. But maybe that was expecting too much."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. He acknowledges it with a quick jerk of his chin. She risks reaching out and setting her hand on his knee. "I really am. It won't happen again."

He stares at her. "You say that," he says slowly. "And I believe you mean it."

"I do." She presses her legs together, tries to will away the involuntary response to authoritative lecturing. "I mean it, you can trust me."

"Problem is," he says in a low voice, and reaches across his lap to wrap fingers around her wrist, "I'm not sure I can. Not until I know you've learned your lesson."

Sweet merciful lord, Christine thinks. Her heart hammers sharply and her skin prickles with heat. She tests his grasp with a tiny tug and finds it firm, unyielding. "I *have*," she tries, her voice coming out high and thready. "I swear I have."

"Shhh," he murmurs, even as he pulls her in by her wrist and slides his other hand around her back to haul her clumsily across his lap. She squirms, trying to find enough balance to push back up, but his palm sliding warmly across the back of one of her thighs makes her freeze. "Don't worry, honey. Just take your punishment like a good girl and it'll be over before you know it."

Tears sting her eyes. She doesn't want this, she tells herself desperately. This is not her, this is not her idea of a good time, she needs to -- she needs to stop him. She needs to tell him no, in no uncertain terms, and she needs to leave until he gets it through his head that he's got the wrong idea about her.

She doesn't do any of those things. She just *trembles* as he caresses her leg, his hand slipping under her skirt to brush the curve of her ass. "Now," he says quietly. He rests his forearm across her back and folds her skirt up. "Let's be clear. You understand what you did?"

She nods, her cheek rubbing against the cushion under her head. "Tell me," he prompts. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and he begins working the fabric down. She closes her eyes and can't seem to find the words. "*Tell* me, Christine."

"I didn't pay enough attention," she gasps out. "I -- I was negligent. I let you down."

"And?"

"And... someone could have gotten hurt." He gets her underwear halfway down her thighs and leaves off to push his hand between her legs. She's so wet that his fingers slide easily, and she whimpers. She's not sure if it's from need or shame or a combination of the two. "I-- I put a patient at risk."

"Mm-hmm." He rubs idly at her clit and takes advantage of the strong shudder that goes through her body to hitch her closer in against him. "Christine. Do you want--" His voice catches slightly and he clears his throat. "Are you ready?"

The cautious concern in his voice makes her breath catch. All she has to do, she knows, *all* she has to do is shake her head and get up or hell, just do *nothing*. She's certain of it, that he won't do a thing without her permission. She rocks her hips against the pressure of his fingers and squeezes her eyes shut tightly. "I'm ready," she whispers.

For a moment, he goes perfectly still. All she can hear is the sound of him breathing, steady but heavy. Then his hand slowly withdraws, and he takes a moment to shift her, to pull her legs up onto the couch so that she's sprawled perfectly across his lap, her ass bared and her back arched to thrust it up slightly. He drags his hand in slow circles across each cheek. "Okay," he mutters. "Christ. Okay."

His first strike is perfectly placed, squarely across the center of her ass. Christine gasps at the sting and flattens out, pushing down because it's the only direction in which she can recoil. He pauses briefly but then his hand comes down again, no hesitation at all between the next four smacks, two on the right and two on the left. Each one makes her jerk from the explosion of sharp, burning pain, makes her cry out softly into the cushion, and for a moment she considers putting a stop to this as the mistake it seems to be.

But when he pauses again, a longer interval, she sucks in deep breaths and shifts and realizes that he's hard in his uniform pants, his erection trapped where her waist is pressed close to his groin. It all churns in her mind, how turned on he is, how turned on *she* is, how much the ache in her ass seems to be throbbing straight down into her clit. She finds herself squirming, but it's not to get away.

It's to find something in the way of friction against his leg. He growls under his breath and applies more pressure to her back and his hand comes down again. And again and again, over and over across every inch of her ass, across the tops of her legs. She loses count and just *feels*, each impact of his palm a fiery jolt at the point of contact that dulls as it radiates out into her limbs, but at the same time tightens right at her core as her need to come intensifies to a point she can hardly bear. She realizes she's crying outright, dampening the sofa cushion, and in a fog she notices that his hips are lifting beneath her, jostling her, rubbing his erection against her side.

"Please," she gasps when she doesn't think she can take it anymore. She sniffles and he strikes her again, the hardest swat yet, and she jerks in his grasp and sobs and her mind blanks out in a wash of desperate need. "Daaaaddy," she groans. "*Please*."

McCoy's hand settles on her ass more gently than it has in several minutes and his fingers curl into her tender flesh. He makes a harsh, choked noise and grinds against her hip for the space of several soft, rhythmic grunts, then slumps beneath her torso.

Christine finds she can't think, can't even begin to make sense of the cold, simple facts skittering through her mind. He's gotten to come and she doesn't want to think about what made him do it, she just wants the same, she *needs* it, she was right there but he stopped and no matter how she shifts her hips she can't make it happen and it has to or she'll go *insane*. She knows she will; she will literally lose her mind. "Please," she whispers again.

He groans softly. "Please what?" he prompts. She moans and shakes her head, and he pushes his hand between her legs, grazes her clit lightly. "Say it, baby. Please *what*?"

"Daddy!" she sobs. He rewards her with a firmer touch, a twist of his fingers against her swollen skin, and it pushes her far past the point where any amount of embarrassment could temper the desperate need to come. She babbles as she writhes against his hand. "Please, let me, I'll be good for you, I'll--" He slides two fingers into her and rubs down against just the right spot and she arches up and back, her entire body seizing up from the power of it. "Yes, Daddy, oh goooood, yes, yes, thank you, Daddy, oh god, oh *fuck*..."

He waits until she's come down and slumped back over his lap to give her one last light swat on her ass.

"Watch your language, honey," he says mildly.


End file.
